by Cheryl Holt
“I might try that. Maybe it would cure my boredom.”
He finished his drink, stood, and started out. Kit didn’t rise with him, but asked, “Weren’t you planning to examine the account ledgers?”
“I changed my mind. It’s too pleasant an afternoon to spend it talking about expenses and debts.”
“I agree.”
Kit toasted him with his glass, then Jacob escaped.
He realized that he ought to show more of an interest in the place. It had been his since his father had died when he was ten. A relative had managed it for him when he was still a boy, then Kit had taken over after they’d become adults.
He never questioned Kit over any issue, but why would he? Kit was paid to be in charge, and Jacob wouldn’t sneak around behind him, nitpicking and second-guessing. He probably shouldn’t be so trusting, but so far, he’d never had reason to rein in Kit or revoke any of his authority.
He couldn’t force himself to care much about the day-to-day workings of the estate. He wasn’t a farmer and never had been. He was a sailor, descended from a lengthy line of sailors, and he knew about wind, water, and currents. He didn’t know about crops or forage or herds or orchard health, and he didn’t really want to know. That type of discussion put him to sleep.
The prior night, when he’d met Miss James in the woods, he’d told her he always needed to settle in when he arrived, and he’d been serious. About the time he was more comfortable, it was time to leave again.
He thought about proceeding to the front parlor, searching for Margaret or perhaps socializing with Roxanne. He ought to get acquainted with her, but in his present mood, he was too edgy. Roxanne would wax on about the engagement party they were hosting in September, after which the betrothal would be official, and he couldn’t contemplate it yet.
His mother had arranged the match shortly before her death. Roxanne was a distant cousin who might have grown up to be his bride, but she and her mother had moved to Italy when she was fifteen, so it hadn’t happened when they were younger.
His mother had insisted she’d be the perfect wife for him. She was twenty-five already and worldly in a way that would suit Jacob. In light of his career, where he’d traveled the globe and encountered every kind of person, he wouldn’t have liked a fussy, immature debutante.
When his mother had proposed the union, he couldn’t have argued that he wasn’t prepared to wed. He was thirty after all, so he couldn’t persist with his delays. Roxanne was beautiful and sophisticated. She was very independent too, so if he didn’t retire from the navy and was gone for long periods, she’d be fine without him.
But would he like to have a wife who was fine without him? Wouldn’t he like a bride who was a little less self-sufficient? If he shackled himself to a woman who never missed him, what was the point?
He went down a rear hall and exited onto the verandah. He leaned on the balustrade and studied his surroundings. Cattle grazed in a pasture, and horses frolicked in a meadow. Servants bustled to and fro, carrying out their chores.
The sight was verdant and soothing, like a scene a painter might have rendered to capture rural England on a summer afternoon, and he tried to let the exquisiteness sink in. He should be reveling in his ownership, in his prosperity, but the sad fact was that he didn’t perceive much of a connection to any of it.
He’d left for school at age seven, and during holidays, he’d visited friends or boarded in the dormitory. Then, once he was sixteen, he’d joined the navy and had never looked back. He returned only on the rarest occasions, then he quickly departed, wondering why he bothered, but he was about to marry.
He’d soon have a wife to consider, so would he stay away forever? Was that his plan? Why wed if he would never be around? It made no sense.
On the other side of the park, a dog was running on the edge of the woods, and when he focused in, he recognized Mutt. Could his mistress be far behind?
He waited for her to emerge from the forest, but she didn’t. Not being inclined to dissuade himself, he marched down the steps. Could Mutt take him to her? He supposed so, and at the notion, he couldn’t keep from smiling.
He was anxious to talk to her again, but he couldn’t figure out why. Maybe he was simply eager to assess her auburn hair in the daylight.
Mutt saw him, and he rushed up, tail wagging ferociously.
“Where is Miss James?” he inquired.
Mutt seemed to understand what he’d asked. He actually motioned with his snout and hurried off. Jacob followed at a brisk pace, while he struggled to deduce his purpose.
He was the biggest snob in the kingdom, and he was a great believer that diverse individuals shouldn’t fraternize. The Good Lord had created different sorts of people, and in England, they all had their places and remained in them.
He wasn’t sure who Miss James was or what she was. It sounded as if she was a nurse or midwife, and Kit had conveniently neglected to explain why she supplied duties that warranted lodging in a cottage.
Somehow, she’d managed to fascinate him, and he hated to dawdle at Ralston Place. He was a man of action and adventure, and he was easily bored. Miss James might provide a pleasant diversion that would help to pass the dreary hours.
He and Mutt continued on for a lengthy distance, then Mutt led him off the trail and down a rocky path. They ended up at a stream he couldn’t name and hadn’t known to exist. Miss James was sitting on the bank, her basket next to her and filled with flowers.
Her shoes were off, her skirt tugged up to her knees, her toes dangling in the water. Her bonnet was laying on the grass, so her hair was visible, and it wasn’t red or auburn, but somewhere in between those two shades. The base was more of a chestnut color, with strands of gold and red woven throughout.
She was pretty as a picture, and it was the strangest thing, but his heart leapt under his ribs, as if it had swelled with gladness.
Mutt barked softly, and she said, “There you are, you naughty dog. Where have you been? What if I’d needed you?”
She glanced over her shoulder, expecting it to be her dog. As she noted him too, she grinned a grin he felt clear down to his toes.
“Captain Ralston! Why are you out in the middle of the woods?”
“I could ask you the same, Miss James.”
“I’m gathering flowers.”
“For a bouquet?”
“No. I brew medicinal tinctures with them. This is a good spot to find blossoms.”
“You brew tinctures? Are you a witch?”
She scoffed. “Everyone has agreed, Captain, that there are no witches. It’s just a story invented by frightened, pious men to make children shake in their boots.”
“Yes, and witches are ugly crones, so you couldn’t possibly be one.”
He walked over and plopped down beside her. He sat much closer than he should have, so his thigh and arm were pressed to hers. She didn’t scoot away to put space between them, and he was delighted to learn she wasn’t squeamish.
He studied her keenly. She was older than she’d seemed the previous night. She was so petite that, initially, he’d worried she was a girl out alone in the dark, but no, she was definitely a woman. She was very refined, her movements graceful and elegant, but it was her eyes that riveted him.
They were big and green and brimming with merriment, as if she relished the day and was always happy. What would it be like to be so free and comfortable in the world? Even though he was from a rich, prominent family, he’d always felt as if he had a foot off the center of the line.
His upbringing had left him moody and prone to sulks, and it was exhausting to keep harkening back to his horrible rearing, but he was too reflective. It was a reason he never came home. His mother had been awful, his sisters miserable, and his father . . .
Well, his father had been such a tawdry, sorry man that it was mortifying to descr
ibe him. Yet Jacob was his son, so he couldn’t really ever stop pondering him. His great hope was that he’d never exhibit any of his father’s immoral traits, and in fact, he’d once sworn to his mother that he would never behave so reprehensibly.
Most of the time, he lived up to that lofty vow.
“Would you do me a favor?” she asked.
“It depends on what it is.”
“Would you please never mention I’m a witch when you’re talking about me?”
“I was joking.”
“I realize you were, but there are plenty of people in this country who don’t like to hear about a woman brewing medicine or practicing the healing arts. I like it at Ralston, and I wouldn’t want to ever upset anyone where I might have to depart.”
“I like to think our neighbors are modern and educated. They don’t truck with much superstition.”
“It’s a rural locale, and nonsense can spread quickly and without warning.”
“I suppose that’s true, but I wouldn’t let you be hurt of insulted.”
“How, precisely, would you prevent it? I could hardly contact you for assistance when you were on a ship in the middle of the ocean.”
He patted her knee. “Don’t fret about it. Not on such a lovely afternoon.”
“I’m not fretting. I just wouldn’t like to stir any anger.”
“I don’t see how you could. You’re much too meek and fetching to cause any trouble.” He pointed to the stream. “Is the water cold?”
“No, it’s very refreshing.”
“Will you faint if I shed my boots and stick my feet in too?”
“I’ll try to bear up.”
He yanked off his boots, his stockings too, then he plunged his feet in, but the temperature was frigid, and he grimaced. “You scamp! It’s icy.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
She was correct; his skin adjusted rapidly, and he rested his elbows on his thighs and scrutinized the area. The scenery was bucolic, and it was embarrassing to acknowledge how often he complained. He had to cease being so negative about his home.
He peered over at her and said, “Would it surprise you if I admit I wasn’t aware this stream was here?”
“No. You’ve never tarried much at Ralston.”
“How could you know that?”
“I know all sorts of things about you. I’ve been at the estate for a whole decade, remember?”
She smiled a smile that was probably similar to the one Eve had flashed at that poor sap Adam, and alarm bells rang in Jacob’s head. She exuded a calmness and serenity that drew him in, so he was eager to linger in her company.
He could envision himself growing besotted as a green boy, but she was a maiden, living under his protection, and she was some kind of healer, so she was very far beneath him in class and station. Any attention he paid her would be wrong, and she would misconstrue it, but even as he recognized those issues and scolded himself, he stayed right where he was.
Evidently, he was content to make any number of mistakes with her.
“I was talking to Kit Boswell about you,” he said.
“I hope he didn’t tell you anything too horrid.”
“No, nothing horrid, but nothing truly relevant either.”
“What would you consider to be relevant?”
“Where are you from? How did you wind up at Ralston?”
“I came with my Aunt Pru. We resided in a village near Telford, but her benefactor passed away, and the property was sold. We didn’t have anywhere to go.”
“She was a healer too?”
“Yes, and a renowned midwife. She was famous in many circles, and she delivered hundreds of babies in her life.”
“Hundreds? My goodness.”
“She sent out letters, requesting a new situation, and a friend invited us to Ralston. Eventually, after she’d proved her worth, Mr. Boswell let us have our cottage. He claimed she was a blessing to the ladies in the neighborhood.”
“Kit Boswell said that? He must have been drunk.”
She smirked. “Maybe he was, but after he sobered up, he didn’t evict us. Will you? Now that you’ve learned about it? Promise me you won’t. I’m happy there, and I have my niece, Clara, to raise.”
“No, I won’t evict you. Besides, you’re nursing my sister, so she’d kill me if I tried.”
“Thank you. I’m grateful.”
“Would it surprise you again if I confess that I had no idea about you or your cottage? I can’t picture where it’s located.”
“It’s off the beaten path.”
“You’ll have to show it to me. You must realize that.”
“I’m not showing you my cottage.”
He huffed with feigned offense. “I’m lord and master on this estate.”
“Just barely,” she muttered.
“And if I demand you oblige me on any topic, then you must.”
She scowled at him, and there was the cutest frown line between her eyes. He could hardly keep from reaching out and rubbing it away with his thumb.
“You’re a man who could become a bother,” she said.
“A bother!”
“Yes, and if you find out where I live, you’ll be popping in constantly, and I really can’t have it.”
“You are the strangest woman I’ve ever encountered. Who doesn’t like to have visitors?”
“I don’t sit around embroidering towels and curling my hair. I’m very busy.”
“With your potions and your healing?”
“Yes, and don’t you dare make fun of me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, but his tone was very sarcastic.
“I provide a valuable service, but I’m sure you think my life is silly.”
“You’re correct. I think you are extremely silly.”
He smiled at her, his gaze warm and even a tad affectionate. In his mind, he understood he was treading on dangerous ground, but he couldn’t rein in his fascination. She was charming, and he was charmed.
She blew out a heavy breath. “Why am I letting you waste my time?”
“I’m not wasting your time. My arrival is the most intriguing thing that’s happened to you all day.”
“Or maybe the most annoying. Don’t you have chores at the manor? You’ve been away for ages. There must be ledgers to review or tenants to harass.”
“I’ll be home for a few months, so there will be plenty of opportunity to review ledgers and harass tenants.”
“Have you chatted with your sister yet?”
“No. She doesn’t appear too excited that I’m back.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. I’m meeting with her in a bit; I’ll drag her out of her room to converse with you.”
At the news that she would stop by the manor, he was much more thrilled than he should have been.
“Do you call on her often?”
“If I’m nearby. I’ve advised her it’s pointless to mope and brood.”
“We’re Ralstons. We’re skilled at moping and brooding.”
“You don’t seem very morose.”
“I hide it better than her.” He shrugged. “It was difficult for us, growing up here.”
“How could it have been difficult? You’re rich and landed, and your father was a famous mariner. You don’t necessarily comprehend the meaning of the word difficult.”
“You could be right. Perhaps I shouldn’t whine so frequently or flog myself so much.”
“Perhaps not.”
She stared at the stream, at the sky, relishing the quiet tranquility, and again, he was struck by her beauty and poise. His sense resurfaced that his rural sojourn might be more interesting than he’d expected. She would render it more interesting.
She pulled her feet from the water, and though he glared
avidly, she ignored him and tugged on her stockings and shoes. He couldn’t irritate or rattle her, so he did the same.
“Are we leaving?” he asked.
“I am leaving. I can’t speak for you.”
He rose, then reached down to help her up too, but she gaped at him as if she’d never seen an extended limb before.
“Don’t tell me you’re squeamish about clasping my hand,” he said. “I’ll never believe it.”
“I don’t usually . . . ah . . . hold a person’s hand.”
“I’m not trying to hold your hand. I’m trying to lift you up.”
He didn’t wait for permission, but grabbed on and yanked her up, but then . . .
The eeriest experience occurred. For an instant, their palms were fused together, and she studied him with a look that delved down to his tiniest pore, as if she was rummaging around in his veins.
Time seemed to halt. The wind in the trees ceased blowing. Birds silenced their cawing. Even Mutt quit breathing, and Jacob was rocked by the oddest perception that she was digging into details about him she shouldn’t. He yearned to order her to desist, but he was frozen like a statue, his tongue unable to form any remark.
Then she blinked twice, and the peculiar episode abruptly terminated. She jerked away and stepped back. Before he could recover his wits, she’d scooped up her basket and was hurrying away, her dog trotting at her heels.
He physically shook himself, as if he’d been momentarily turned to stone, and he called to her, “Miss James!”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“What just happened?”
“Nothing, Captain.”
“You’re a terrible liar. What was that?”
“Don’t work yourself into a lather over it.”
“Our hands were . . . we were . . . you were . . .” He couldn’t describe what had transpired. Was she a sorceress? “You were assessing me—from the inside out.”
“I couldn’t possibly have been.”
“It feels as if you’re still in there, probing where you shouldn’t be.”
“I wasn’t aware that you were prone to flights of fancy.”
“Where are you going?”
“As opposed to you, I have chores to complete.”